Memoirs of the Hopeless
by Lady-Ithil
Summary: Mere hours before Alpha Team's mission, Jill Valentine remembers a humiliating encounter she had while a rookie that could have ended her life, had it not been for a few friends with good timing. Rated M for mentions of rape and foul language.


_Three hours. Just three more hours until we leave._ I'm anxious, but really trying not to show it. It's not professional, not _like_ _me_ to show stress. Bravo Team's been gone... God, since last night, it's been. We're all worried. No, wait; worried is an understatement. Our teammates—our _friends_—are MIA in a forest that's possibly full of killers. The lack of contact has been nerve-wracking. Everyone's been really jumpy today, getting on each other's cases ever since we got here this morning. I'm trying to type a report that's due tomorrow... but I just can't seem to stay focused on the damn thing.

Barry's on the phone. I think he's talking to his wife or Moira or Polly; he's always calling them. He's quiet though, so I can't hear what he's saying... I shouldn't be eavesdropping, anyways, so I look away. Joseph and Chris just got back from having a smoke. Brad's frantically digging through his desk like he's lost something important. Wesker is absent, as usual. He came in a while ago, announced the briefing, and left. He was so... calm, unlike the rest of us. But that's Wesker. I decided to try and get some work done. I have a few traffic violation reports to file; when we're not busy with special missions, we're working the same streets as the other R.P.D. officers. But... it just isn't working. Now, normally I can be counted on as the one who stays calm, no matter what happens. I start doing something and I don't stop no matter what; it helps keep me going if I stay focused on what I need to do rather than what's actually going on. However, waiting... waiting is something completely different. Waiting and not doing anything. Simply waiting for something to happen and not having any control. It's driving me nuts.

I give a frustrated sigh and throw my little yellow notepad to the other side of my desk. Barry looks up and gives me his "sympathetic" look. I hate that; it makes me feel like he's patronizing me. I put my elbow on my desk and rest my chin in my hand, exhaling deeply. Calm. That's what I need. A nice hot bath... or tea... or some classical music, or—

"Coffee!" We all jump at Brad's shout. He stands up so quickly that his chair falls over backwards. When he turns and faces the rest of us, his fingers are visibly twitching. "I'm going to get some coffee. Does anyone else want some?" We all nod. After he's out of hearing range, Joseph shakes his head.

"Poor bastard just can't stand sitting around waiting," he mutters.

"He ain't the only one." Barry's hung up his phone and is leaning back to stretch over his chair. The rest of us fall into a sort of uncomfortable silence. No one's going to admit that they feel the same as Chicken Heart... even if it is true.

I find myself missing Rebecca Chambers. Aside from being the only other female on the S.T.A.R.S., she's become a pretty good friend over the past few weeks. She's intelligent, witty, and clearly eager to please the rest of us and make friends. But at the same time, she's not above joining me in playing petty jokes on the guys. I love that. I mean, I've got plenty to pay Chris, Forrest, and Joseph back for.

I wasn't shy when I first got into S.T.A.R.S., but I think they were a little surprised that Wesker let a woman in so soon after the group was formed. So I guess they felt they had to "test" me. They found a bunch of live mice and stuck them in my desk drawer. Really childish, and I'm not afraid of mice... but when I stuck my hand in there and there were squeaky, fuzzy things wriggling around I screamed. They teased me for almost two weeks. I put up with it until they forgot... and then got my revenge by messing with the screws on their chairs so they would collapse when they sat down. I came in early the next day and put a ton of superglue on the seats, too. Now _that_ was funny. Of course, we had it all cleaned up by the time Wesker came in later on...

I'm smiling a bit, remembering that. The thought brings back memories of my early days as a S.T.A.R.S. officer. There was a lot of funny stuff, sure... but then there's some shit that I wish I could forget. Something that sticks out in my mind as an example of the latter is something that happened pretty early after I joined, about a month into my new position. The R.P.D. was ready to enact a massive vice operation in an attempt to rid Raccoon City of the growing prostitute population. I volunteered to help the other female officers by playing a hooker with them. Chris, Barry, Kenneth, and Joseph were signed up to help arrest the customers, along with some other guys. All in all, it was pretty simple, and though some risk was involved for the girls, the team should have been able to pull things off according to plan—but what's that saying? "The best-laid plans of men often go wrong," or something like that...

**

* * *

**

Jill Valentine waited in a car with a woman she had just recently met. Maria Colinn was the officer in charge of this operation. She was a nice lady, the first lines of age showing on her pretty, motherly face; a woman of medium height with a slight build and gorgeous, long red hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her gray eyes shone out fiercely with determination from her pale face. She had taught the girls what they needed to know, about how to handle the prospective customers, or "Johns;" what to do if something went wrong, what to say... that sort of thing. Jill was a bit nervous, not having done anything like this before, but she lived on new experiences. She knew most of the men waiting back in the hotel room to arrest the Johns, and the two non-S.T.A.R.S. officers—Kevin Ryman and Jake Sallings—seemed to be genuinely good men. And as tonight was to prove, there were all too few of those.

Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" floated softly from the old red car's speakers, interrupted only by the occasional chatter on the radio Maria held in her hand. Barry and Kenneth were out patrolling the area, radioing back and forth about the undercover cop's status. Every once in a while, Maria would comment. The woman on the street right now was experienced. Tara Zeckess had already brought in three men and was currently working on a fourth. After that, Maria had said, Jill would relieve her; Tara would head for the station to start filing her reports on the evening as the women before her had done.

"There we go," Maria said quietly, watching as her officer led a tall blond man to the hotel where the other police waited. She quickly contacted the men, telling them to expect company soon before turning to Jill.

"Think you're ready?" Jill nodded. She was wearing an outfit that was suited to the role she was about to play: blue tube top with a black miniskirt that hardly reached mid-thigh. The attire was something usually worn to her favorite club, and had worked well enough on those nights. She wore boots with heels nearly five inches tall, and a tight-fitting dark red silk blouse that she had tied above her stomach, rather than button. Despite the clothes—or lack thereof—the thing that really made her feel exposed was the fact that she carried no weapon. Maria gave her a comforting smile.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. You look like a knockout." Jill smiled back at her. "Our boys will take care of you if you need it. But you won't. Just remember what I told you. Oh... here comes Tara. She's going to walk around the corner and I'll pick her up there. You have to get out now." Jill opened the door and exited the vehicle, instantly shivering at the chill breeze that hit her bare legs. She shut the door and walked across the parking lot to the sidewalk. When she glanced back, Maria was no longer there.

"Alright, let's go," she said, giving herself one last chance to be nervous before adopting a charming, bold, sexy persona that she felt certainly didn't extend any farther than her surface. Maybe that _was_ her normal self, but she really had to force it now.

She turned the corner and walked down the street slowly, glancing at the cars going by. The evening was growing dark and streetlights did little but make the shadows deepen. She forced herself to look calm... after all, women did this every night. Stepping into the hazy glow of a streetlight, she paused to watch as a car came her way. The driver slowed down. She remembered what Maria had told her and bent forward slightly to study the vehicle and man inside, showing a hint of cleavage as she did so. That tactic worked, because the man stopped and rolled down the window. The smell of cigarettes and beer wafted out—as well as heat from within the car. She suppressed a shiver.

"Baby, you look a little... cold," the man said, eyeing her up and down. She smiled at him and cocked her head slightly to one side.

"Well, maybe I am."

"Well, maybe you want to warm up?"

"Are you offering?" The man let out a short chuckle.

"Yeah."

"I think I'd need a little more than just... warming up to go with you, though," she said, biting her lower lip coyly as she waited for him to speak. She was really trying to lay on the charm. Hardly five minutes into her walk and she already had someone... hopefully. That would have been a record for the night.

"What are you asking?"

"What are you offering?" The man frowned in thought.

"I'd say..." he eyed her again. She felt like an animal, up for auction and being examined by possible buyers, but worked to suppress her utter disgust at being treated as an object. "I'd say... sixty." Her eyebrows went up in a genuine expression of surprise.

"Sixty? Well... what exactly do you want?"

"You'll see."

"I've got a room at the hotel over there," she said, pointing. The man frowned again, instantly suspicious.

"You a cop?" She scowled back at him.

"Why would you say that?"

"Listen, I've got my own room. That's how I always do it. It's only cops that ever wanna go to a certain place."

Jill's mind tumbled over this, trying to figure out how to respond. But she never had to, because the man began to speak again before she could get a word in.

"But... I guess you ain't a cop. Too pretty." She smiled, though the expression was one of relief rather than gratitude at the compliment. "You lead. I'll pull in a minute later. If we go together, it'll look suspicious." Jill nodded.

"See you in a few," she said, giving him a wink before the man rolled up the car's window. Barry's unmarked cruiser pulling down the street was easy for her to spot as she made her way back to the hotel. She was extremely conscious of the little black car that followed almost a block behind, and made sure her expression and body language showed otherwise. She felt oddly happy, though; only just into the beginning of her turn she already had a guy. Maria would be proud. The woman was really set on making this go well.

As Jill neared the hotel, she didn't see Maria anywhere. That was good; if the same car with the same driver sat in one place for too long people would get suspicious. Since Barry had gone by moments ago the officers back in the room would know she was coming. Her confidence came flooding back and she gave a happy sigh. This wasn't so hard, after all.

She waited near her door for the man to pull up. He parked on the opposite side of the lot and approached casually, hands in the pockets of his baggy leather jacket. This guy was _tall_, either very large or very muscular, and wearing a baseball cap that shadowed his face and prevented her from making out any features other than his thin-lipped mouth. Jill gave him a half smile.

"This one's mine," she said, nodding her head toward the door. "Wanna go in?" Her hand on the doorknob was shortly covered by his massive, gloved palm.

"I don't think so." Her brows furrowed in confusion as she looked up to him.

_He's got to be at least a foot taller than me... holy shit... _her mind whirled; suddenly nervous again.

He was very close now, his body pressed against hers, and with the hand that still resided in his pocket he put something to her side.

_A gun,_ she thought faintly. _Fucker has a gun... _Even through the thick material of his coat she could feel the heavy metal of the weapon's barrel.

"Like I said, I've got my own room; I ain't fucking getting arrested. Get in the car. You listen to me or you'll never get your money."

_I was so close..._ this thought floated through her mind faintly as she allowed him to lead her to his car, overly aware of the gun now pressed into her back the entire way.

The warm air that hit her bare legs and heated her body as she sat down worked to calm her a little. She quickly analyzed the situation.

_He has a gun and I don't, so I don't have a choice but to listen to him. The others probably already know something's up; they'll follow him. In the meanwhile, to not get killed I just have to keep playing along._ She took a deep breath as he began to speak in a hushed, commanding voice.

"When we get back, you're going to sit on the bed. You're going to wait until I tell you what else I want you to do, understand?"

"Yes."

His place wasn't too far away; a dingy little motel that looked as though the building had been abandoned for years. Quite on the contrary, there were cars in front of each door, and even as they pulled up a woman dressed in green short-shorts and a white tank top walked out of a room. She hardly gave the pair a glance as they got out of the tall man's black car, gun still pressed into Jill's side under the pretense of he having an arm wrapped affectionately about her waist.

His room was as much as she expected from such a place: the light blue wallpaper was yellowed with age and peeling, the door was cracked on one side, the bed was covered in a tattered, dark blue blanket and four flat pillows, and there were worn spots and holes in the soiled carpeting. The entire ensemble was complete with a suspicious brown stain on the wall to the right. The room's air was foul and stale, reeking as if the walls had been soaked in liquor and piss before being sent to hang for a week over a pit of burning cigarettes. Jill hardly had a second to take everything in before being shoved to the bed.

"Sit. Don't move." The man was removing his jacket now, exposing an immense mass of black-clad muscle that served as his upper body. He locked the door and jammed one of the room's two chairs up under the handle before taking off his hat. His face was ruddy, with a small, thin mouth and glittering coal-black eyes. Hair the color of dry dirt hung limply down his neck and onto his shoulders. A deep scar ran the length of his nose, which had obviously been broken not so long ago. Jill thought he looked familiar, but she couldn't place him. He cracked his knuckles noisily and regarded her.

"I want you to stay quiet. No screaming or anything, got it?" He had moved to a chair with a black sports bag perched upon the seat, and began rummaging about inside. He produced a long strip of plaid cloth. She understood instantly: noise meant gag. That was alright; she wouldn't need her mouth to defend herself if things came to that. S.T.A.R.S. training was rigorous, and all of them were required to spend a certain number of hours in the gym per week. There were also the mandatory self-defense lessons. Jill nodded.

"Good. Now lay on your back and put your hands up." She did so, but when he produced a pair of handcuffs from his bag she began to worry. Her hands automatically drew back from the headboard.

"I told you to _listen_, bitch," he growled, grabbing her arms and forcing them over her head, where her wrists were promptly cuffed to a convenient bar in the cut-out pattern on the bed's headboard. She took a deep breath. The guys would be there any minute. She just had to stay calm and put up with his shit for a few more moments; the young female officer was beginning to look forward to seeing _him_ in handcuffs. As far as her personality went, she hated being submissive and was growing more and more concerned as he began digging through his bag again. The headboard would probably break if she pulled hard enough, but—

A flash in the dim room told her that had had taken out a knife. Her stomach balled up, and a hard lump formed in her throat as he moved closer. Kicking him—_hard_—didn't seem like a good plan at the moment; she had no idea if he still had the gun on him as well. So she simply scrunched her eyes shut and hoped for the best as he leaned over her, his breathing heavy and pained.

_He must have been smoking for years now,_ she thought absently. _Hope Chris quits before he gets like this guy._ The young man was notorious for going through at least two packs per day- on a _good_ day.

The sound and feel of fabric being sliced brought her back to the present situation. The razor-sharp blade had quickly gone through her blouse, and the man ripped the rest in order to pull the garment from her quivering body. She bit her lip nervously as he began cutting through her top, exposing her breasts to the room's damp, chill air. A flush colored her cheeks; she was instantly very self-conscious.

_Where... the fuck... are they?_

The man moved down her body, carelessly trailing his knife along her side. Jill shivered at the lifelessly cold blade. He was pulling on her miniskirt now, not attempting to take the article of clothing off; he simply tugged the skirt up over her thighs until it had bunched up just below her stomach. His eyes narrowed as he analyzed her. She was a threat, he must have thought, because he put the knife that was now in his left hand to her neck as he used his right to pull her panties down below her knees. He smirked as she trembled involuntarily.

_Why is this happening? Why doesn't it stop? Where are they? Please, don't let him... make them get here..._

The man was ready to strike should she prove troublesome as he fiddled with the zipper on his jeans with his free hand. He watched her, making note of every move she made as he kept her at bay with his knife. The man finally managed to unfasten his pants, and the blade that was beginning to dig into her throat convinced her to part her legs at his urging. She closed her eyes, unable to watch as he positioned himself over her and paused, reveling in his moment of power over the once-willful young woman.

But at that moment, when Jill was seriously debating fighting back—therefore most likely having her throat slit—in order to save herself the humiliation she faced, a _CRASH_ louder than anything she had ever heard broke down the door. The wooden chair wedged against the knob broke cleanly in half from the force. The man, just as startled as she, looked up to see Barry charge into the room, gun drawn. Chris, Kenneth, and Kevin were close behind.

The man was stunned; Jill saw a chance to take advantage of his distraction. She brought up her foot and kicked him squarely in the groin. The heel of her boot met the desired target, and he doubled over, gasping in pain. Barry was on him in a second. Jill curled up on the bed in an attempt to cover herself, bringing her knees as far up to her chest as possible.

He had no intentions of going easy, however. Once the initial shock and pain were gone, while Barry had him lying on his stomach and was reaching for his handcuffs, he struck. The man wrenched his arm from Barry's grip and delivered a violent elbow to the officer's face. Chris, Kenneth, and Kevin rushed the man, whom had already hopped lithely to his feet.

Of the three men, Chris was no competition for him; he simply couldn't compare to the nearly six-and-a-half foot mass of muscle struggling before him. The man just shrugged off his attempts to wrestle his arm behind his back. Kevin proved more of a challenge, and Kenneth was another thing entirely, being the nearest match for size and strength. So while those two attempted to subdue the man, Chris helped Barry to his feet.

"I am _not_ going to jail!" the man raged vehemently. "I did nothing wrong! She was being a fucking _whore_, she offered! That's not _my_ fucking fault!" He was still struggling, trying to pull his arms from the men who held him. But Barry joined them, and Chris took his Beretta from inside his jacket.

"Shut up and hold still or I'm gonna shoot you." The cop's voice was dangerously quiet. The sight of the gun seemed to mollify the man considerably, and the three officers holding him at bay were finally able to put handcuffs about his wrists.

"Sit down. That corner," Chris said, gesturing. The man did as he was told, glaring hatefully at the young officer's gun. "_Don't move_."

"God damn, I think he broke my nose," Barry said, wiping blood from above his upper lip. He glanced at the man now sitting sullenly in the corner. "I'm going to go radio for backup so we can get him out of here." He stepped outside to use the radio in his car.

Kenneth glanced at Jill, and then looked back at the man seated on the floor. "Where's the key for her?" He was silent, and Chris pressed the gun to his forehead.

"Where... are... the... _keys_?" he asked, fuming.

"Front pocket," the man muttered, nodding his head to the duffel bag on the chair. "But _don't_ go through the rest of my shit; I have that right, don't I?" Kevin and Kenneth glanced at each other.

"Dunno about that, buddy," Kevin said, smirking as he retrieved the keys and tossed them to Kenneth. Kevin began rifling through the bag, though when the man moved toward his property in protest Chris pressed the gun harder into his skull. Kenneth went to Jill, who still lay upon the bed.

"I'm sorry, Jill," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the cuffs he was trying to unlock rather than glance at her near-nude form. She was grateful; the situation was degrading enough as was without her comrades ogling her. There was a click as the lock released.

Barry re-entered the room as Kenneth was unlocking the handcuffs. "Should be here in a minute or two. Chris..." the young man didn't look up at the sound of his name, he simply continued concentrating intently on the gun held to the other man's head. "Chris, I'll hold him," Barry said, gently pushing his gun away from the criminal's head. Chris glanced up as though he had just realized he stood there, and Barry gave a small, rueful smile. "Calm down. It's done. We're fine."

Chris looked around the room. Kenneth had joined Kevin and the two were busy rummaging around in the bag; Barry now sat in front of the subdued man. That left Jill sitting on the bed, attempting to cover her exposed chest and pull down her skirt at the same time. She glanced up and, realizing that Chris had seen her, reddened furiously. He was suddenly overcome with sympathy for the young woman, and realized fully how embarrassing the ordeal must have been for her. And there was the bad news she still had to hear... but not yet. For now, he removed his black leather jacket and offered the clothing to her.

"Here," he said, looking to the ground as she reached for the coat. "I think you need this... a little more than me," he said with a small smile. She let out a soft chuckle as she pulled the jacket over her shivering shoulders and pulled on the zipper that ran up the front.

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry about... all this..."

"It's really not your fault."

"Yeah it is. Maybe if I had done something better than put mice in your desk you would have left and not had to go through this at all." She looked at him, truly amazed. He was wearing a soft grin, completely opposite from the anger he had shown minutes ago. She wondered, not for first time, what he had done to get kicked out of the Air Force.

"Shit!" Everyone looked to Kevin. "Shit, man... no way..." Kenneth pulled the wallet from his hands and his mouth dropped in surprise.

"I don't believe it..."

"What is it?" Chris asked, going to the men whom were now looking to the man handcuffed on the floor in shock.

"You _can't fucking do that_! You can't go through my shit without permission!" They ignored his outburst. Now Barry, rather than Chris, put a gun to his head when he moved... and Barry's gun was significantly larger. The man shut up immediately.

"What do you got?" Barry asked. Jill got off the bed, adjusted her skirt, and went to the other officers. At first, they would not let her see.

"He's got five different IDs here, to start," Kevin said, thumbing through several plastic cards he had retrieved from the wallet as Jill tried to look over his shoulder. "You'll never guess who one of them is."

"Who?" Barry and Jill both asked at the same time.

"It's... Jeremy Orgess." Barry's mouth snapped shut and his face went pale as he looked at the man before him.

"Who is that?" Jill asked. The name sounded so damn familiar, for some reason, and she couldn't place it...

Kenneth looked at her uncomfortably, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. "He's wanted for the murder of sixteen prostitutes. Lures them in with a lot of cash, slits their throats, and then rapes them while they're dying..." the tall man trailed off. They were all watching Jill now. Her mouth worked for a moment, trying to find words, but there were none. She looked to Jeremy, then to the floor, before shaking her head and looking to the men.

"It's a good thing we caught him, then," she said, feigning a smile as she pushed her brown hair behind an ear.

Once the backup officers arrived, Orgess was taken away. Barry insisted that Jill see a doctor; other than a shallow cut on her throat where the knife had been digging into her flesh she was pronounced fine, if severely shaken up. The other officers eventually revealed what had taken them so long to come to her aid: Kenneth and Barry had quickly picked up the men waiting at the hotel. Maria had followed Jill and the man right away and the others quickly caught up to her, but at the middle of an intersection Officer Maria Colinn was hit driver's-side-on by a semi. The driver had been drunk. Kenneth, who was directly behind, was unable to stop quickly enough. He skidded in the direction her car had been taken and rear-ended her. He and Kevin—whom was riding in his car—escaped with little damage. Jake and Joseph had decided to stay and take care of Maria. Kenneth and Kevin went in Barry's car with he and Chris. They'd arrived just in time to ask a real prostitute in the area if she had seen Jill. The woman pointed them to a motel, and they had reached Jill with no time to spare. Maria died while at the hospital, approximately a half hour after arriving.

Jill stumbled through the rest of the night, giving a statement that she wouldn't really remember and opting to take the next day off when Wesker offered; he had been called somewhere along the way. She finally got home. Her first action was to take a shower. Then the young woman sat on her couch, unable to sleep immediately. Her thoughts raced.

_No wonder he looked familiar. I've seen his picture in the records. Why didn't I think of that before? Why?_ she thought. _I was so close... hardly seconds away... from being killed. I don't believe it even happened..._

She slept through the next day, which was very much unlike her. Her doorbell rang around five in the evening and she woke up, gasping, thinking Jeremy Orgess was about to descend upon her... but the bell rang again and she took a deep breath. Chris was waiting on the other side of the door. She stared at him vacantly for a moment before finally letting him into her apartment.

"Sorry, I'm really out of it right now." Her voice was overly cheery. "I slept all day, that's odd. But I'll finish filing my papers tomorrow. I suppose you want your jacket back?" She was talking rapidly, not letting him get a word in as she went to her bedroom to get his coat. When she returned, he was regarding her in thoughtful silence. She frowned.

"What?"

"Jill... are you alright?"

He received a blank stare in answer. Then, promising herself she would never do such a thing again, Jill Valentine fell sobbing into Chris Redfield's arms.

**

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**

"Jill?" I look up at the sound of my name, startled.

"What?"

"I said, 'It's time for the briefing.' Are you alright?" Eerie... I remember him saying that, clear as if it were yesterday. But I nod while noting the gentle hand he's placed on my shoulder.

"I'm fine."

"Well come on then, you don't want to piss Wesker off. Brad said he saw him when he was coming back from the coffee machine; he doesn't look happy."

"When does he?" I respond, grinning, and Chris smiles back at me. I glance at my desk, searching for my beverage.

"Coffee is...where?"

"Machine's broke again."

"That's it; I'm going to fix it myself when we get back."

"Be my guest." For a moment neither of us speaks, and he gives my shoulder a small squeeze. The meaning of that gesture is lost on me, but my stomach flutters all the same. "Come on." He's extending his free hand now, and I take it. There's this moment—almost awkward, though not quite—where he's studying me and I'm just marveling at how warm his hand is. It's rough and a little calloused from all his years of working with guns and knives and God knows what else, but so warm all the same... He suddenly pulls me up, none too gently, and I give a little yelp of surprise. I raise an eyebrow and elbow him in the ribs. He's smiling and laughing at me as we walk to the door.

"Ladies first," Chris says, gesturing. I roll my eyes and shove him through.

I remember that saying now: "The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry." That's it.

**

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**

Author's Note: At long last, it is finished. This was supposed to be a much shorter project; I had originally planned to post it by last Thursday. But, as usual, it grew into something else entirely. I'm going to continue my fic "Almost," of course, but I have some research to do first because I am an anal perfectionist and I need to get it exactly right to the Resident Evil story. I've found a marvelous resource and as soon as I'm finished reading it I will post in "Almost" again; I've half the next chapter done. This was just supposed to help me let off steam while getting through the document... but I think I'll continue this story as well. I believe my next chapter shall either be Chris's or Brad's. Eventually I hope to have one for _all_ the important Resident Evil characters... _that_ should keep me busy, hah. The credit for the quote, "the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry" goes to the poet Robert Burns, who wrote it; John Steinbeck for writing a book based off his poem, and my English teacher for enforcing his curriculum and making us read it. The idea of a vice operation came from me watching too many episodes of "Cops" and a few Discovery Channel shows. That is all. Please review. :) ))


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